As we start our walk, I reach my hand out. Her hand grabs mine. It feels small inside my hand. But the touch, the hands holding on to each other, grabs my heart and makes it swell. She's three. She won't be small long. I marvel at the simple, beautiful feeling of her hand in mind. I eagerly pick her up when she requests it. I treasure the connection we have. I adore the way she looks at me when we are going somewhere together.
He runs to me. He a six year old full of energy and excitement. He seizes my hand and swings my arm. His enthusiasm makes me smile. He squeezes my hand. One squeeze, Two Squeezes, Three Squeezes, and then Four. He says, "Do you know what I said?" I smile knowingly and say, "No, what?" He says, "I said, 'I love you most.'" So, I squeeze his hands back, four squeezes. Sometimes I'm saying "I love you, too" but other times, I kid, "I love you more." We are addicted to this game.
He grabs my hand and pulls just me just a bit. "Hey, Momma, can I show you something?" He takes me and shares a discovery or shows off an accomplishment. Other times, he quietly takes my hand and then begins to talk, "Momma,..." It's as if when he has my hand, he knows he touches me deeply. He knows he has harnessed my attention. I listen. I savor the moment. I know that at 8, he won't want to hold my hand in public much longer.
I walk up to him and touch him gently as he is reading. Depending on how he is sitting or laying, I rub my hand over his hand or gently on his back. He looks up, smiles slightly and says, "What?" I say, "Oh, I just want to tell you I love you." At 10, he will hug enthusiastically when I ask for a hug. He enjoys my affection but I usually instigate most of it. That's okay. His expressions tell me everything. I don't stop reaching out to him.
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Moments like these, fill my mothering heart with joy.
I am thankful.
This is my Thursday Thanks Tank.